


Tell me

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Movie(s), Vaginal Sex, domesticity (by wasteland standards)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7488363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things you don't say when talking dirty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell me

It’s been a quiet day. They haven’t seen much of each other: Max was at work in the garage, Furiosa in council meetings. They catch up at dinner, and go to bed early.

Max helps her off with her arm, his hands practised on her belts and buckles. He asks about the planting decisions, tells her about the tuning of a problem engine. It’s nice, small-scale and peaceful, no crises for the moment. It’s unlikely to last, so they should make the most of it. Max is almost chatty, for him. She strokes her hand down his back as they undress, then remembers to check what happened with that salvaged fan belt. They get into bed naked, but not in a rush to fuck immediately. 

It’s taken her a long while to get used to this, to actually living with him. Longer, she suspects, than it has for Max. For all his bad memories and defensiveness and damage, he’s done this before. It’s not that the emotional boundaries are easier for him to cross: she knows they aren’t. But he does already know what’s on the other side. 

She’s surprised by things he does without thinking. He craves physical affection, snuggles into it. She still startles, sometimes, when she wakes to find him wrapped around her. For him, any tension is the other way around. He’ll burrow against her, sleepy and warm, then go still once he realises what he’s doing. For both of them, the panicky moments happen less than they used to.

Given their nightmares, the closeness also leads to bruises. She kicked him in the jaw once, wrestling her way out of sleep. When he wakes up swinging, it’s usually defensive, so she’s more likely to get an elbow to the ribs or face than an actual punch. She hopes the night terrors are getting less frequent, too, but it might be wishful thinking. 

He can make her grumpy, and make her heart melt. The last time he’d come back from a scouting trip, he arrived midmorning, swaying on his feet after driving all night. She’d sent him straight to bed, and faced her own disappointment: she’d been looking forward to reunion sex since his car was spotted in Citadel territory. When she’d checked in on him that afternoon, she found him deeply asleep but wriggled over to her side of the bed, his face pressed into the nightshirt she’d left under the pillow. 

They’re cuddled together now. Furiosa presses closer, her hand roaming. Max cups her face and kisses her. In certain moods, he must be the slowest kisser in the wasteland. There is nothing lazy or casual about it. He slows everything down, his mouth and his tongue and his hands on her, hungry and intent. She tends to come out of it breathless, with tingling lips and an eager body.

“Tell me what you want,” she says, between kisses, her voice already rough.

He hums, and growls, and rolls on to his back, pulling her onto him. Furiosa wants to laugh: of course he answers without words, of course he’s shown her his strength while asking for hers. Straddling his belly, with his hardening cock against her buttock, she leans in to kiss him again. 

“That’s not telling me.” She reaches down, lines his cock up against her pussy, letting herself rock against him. He gives a gasp that’s nearly a whine, so she rocks a little harder.

“Tell me.”

“I want – I –” He stops, frustrated. She kisses him again.

“Yeah? What would you like?” 

“When you talk to me.”

“Mmmm?”

“You on top, telling me what you’re doing. What we’re doing. What you want.” He’s not looking her in the eye, but his hands are stroking her thigh, her side. 

“We can do that.” She leans in to kiss him again, and sits up. The movement slides his cock against her clit; she pushes into it. “But you talk too, yeah? Tell me if you’re liking it.” He nods. She stops rocking, stares at him.

“Yeah,” he says, gruff. “I’ll say – nnngh.” She’s started again. “I like that.” She smiles, works her hips more.

“I like the sounds you make,” she tells him. “I like it when you talk.” His hands are stroking her again, one on her leg, the other sliding up to her hip. He knows all the sensitive places on her skin, how to shift from a warm, firm touch to something so light that she shivers to feel more of it. She’s still rubbing against him. To her surprise, he doesn’t need prompting this time.

“Want to be inside you.” There’s a moan in his voice, but he’s perfectly clear. She swoops forward to kiss him, then kneels up, holding his cock steady so she can slide slowly onto him. She grinds down the last inch, and holds still, panting, feeling the wet stretch of it.

“You gonna move?” he asks. She laughs outright, because she hadn’t meant to tease him. She shifts to get the angle right. She knows he likes it when she presses down, when she squeezes: she’s rewarded with faster breathing, with a grunt when she really clenches tight. 

Max reaches between her legs. He takes his time over it, running his hand over her mound, stroking her pubic hair before parting her lips. He slides his fingers up and down, feeling how wet she is, before moving to her clit and starting to circle.

“Keep – doing – that,” she gets out, and moans when he does. 

“Keep talking,” he says, fingers curling, grinning up at her.

It’s more difficult than she’d realised. She does want him to keep doing that: it’s an effort to think beyond it. She catches her breath at a quirk of his fingers, then makes herself speak, every sentence interrupted by gasps. 

“I love how you feel inside me.” She loves the look on his face, too. “How hard you are, how – oh – my body wants you inside me.” She doesn’t know how else to describe it, the way her cunt opens wetly for him then clamps down. She runs her hand up his chest, feeling his heart beating fast. She pumps her hips, watches him gulp. 

“Love – seeing you – feel it.” She thinks he’s going to reply, but it comes out as a groan.

“Love it when – and I love – oh –” Her hips are stuttering along with her tongue, because she can’t say that but her mouth doesn’t seem capable of saying anything else.

She hasn’t told him she loves him. She assumes he knows, but saying it feels like a milestone, not something she wants to spill out because she’s trying too hard to talk dirty. Everything she’s said has been true, as honest as she can make it; she doesn’t think it would work on him otherwise. But it’s still a performance, and she can’t do this like that, she can’t. From trying to keep talking, she’s suddenly biting her lip not to say anything, not to blurt out something she thinks neither of them is ready for. She stammers and moans.

Max moves both hands to her hips, holding her firm as he thrusts up, solid and physical and here in the moment. It pulls her back on track: she grinds down fast and rough, suddenly frantic to come, to get some sort of release. He keeps one hand gripping her hip, but moves the other back to her clit, stroking her much harder than before. She whimpers, then wails with relief, her thrusts and his fingers getting her there. She’s shuddering and clenching on him, her thigh muscles burning. She groans when she realises he’s coming too. 

She sits still for a moment, sweating and shaky, eyes shut. She feels exposed, stretched open. Max shifts under her, moving to sit up. In the glimpse she gets before she shuts her eyes again, his face is very soft as he looks at her. 

He gives her space when they get up to wash, rather than his usual nuzzling. She’s glad of a moment to pull herself together, but misses touching him. When he offers to wash her back, her right side, she turns and buries her face in his neck. He puts his arms around her, water dripping down her back from the wet cloth in his hand.

Back in bed, he pulls her in and holds her close. She’s achy from fucking him so hard – between that and her thighs, she’s going to be sore tomorrow – but she doesn’t feel so raw any more. 

They lie like that for a while, tired and warm. Furiosa is getting sleepy, her tension ebbing away. She reaches for his hand, tangles her fingers with his. He kisses her shoulder, her neck. 

“I love it, too,” he says, soft and low, his lips on her ear.

**Author's Note:**

> I was very much thinking of [this wonderful nsfw art](http://youkaiyume.tumblr.com/post/151567838638/youkaiyume-warning-nsfw-for-this-weeks-smut) by Youkaiyume when I wrote this. It's since been posted as a smut prompt, with several more fics inspired by it - more at the link.
> 
> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
